


Food prompts

by smoth



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Alcohol, Baker AU, Crushes, Gen, Hotel bartenders au, M/M, Rich Trott, Ross is scared of gory films, cocktails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-28 22:30:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10840791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoth/pseuds/smoth
Summary: A few prompts from Three's list, in May. I only did a few, because I am bad.





	1. (Day 1) Blackberry and Ginger cocktails

**Author's Note:**

> Trott is a 5 star guest at a 5 star hotel, and only deserves the best service at the bar.

“He is _stacked_.” Smith’s back is arrow-straight, hands clasped behind his back as instructed, chest puffed out so much so that the buttons on his shirt were strained.

“Isn’t everyone, in here?” Ross, beside him, in a similar pose, said in a hushed voice. “Suddenly forgotten where you work, mate?”

Being a bartender sounded much more lax, in the job description online; _must be qualified with at least two years of experience, uniform is provided_. But this was for a 5-star hotel with a French name, a mint chocolate on every pillow and free alcohol for businessmen and businesswomen alike. The hotel was very popular for meetings from the big brands, and Smith found it awe-inspiring to be serving whiskeys to head CEOs of the companies that produce the clothes on his back.

“I mean, yeah, but just _look_ at him.” Smith whispers, a hiss from behind his teeth, and pointedly lets his eyes land back on what they had been silently gazing upon for the best part of half an hour.

A straight backed man with hair the colour of dark rum was sat, one leg resting atop the other, toes pointed, on one of the plush lounge chairs.

“He must be the owner of something like Prada. I feel so under dressed.”

“We didn't choose these uniforms, mate.” Ross watches as Smith's eyes glaze over in deep thought.

“Do you think he owns the company that did? “Holy mother of-”

“Hello there, blue-eyes."

Ross has pretended to stop listening, opting instead to slide down the bar and wipe down the counter top, paved with marble. Smith curses in his head as he turns to face both the source of the greeting and the reason why Ross was holding back a giggle.

The fur-coat wearing man was suddenly sitting down atop one of the leather bar-stools, setting down a small cigar box in front of him. Up close, he was even more stunning.

And he's _looking_ , too.

"Come to think of it, you _both_ have blue eyes. Very icy over there," the handsome stranger quirks a fine brow as he studies Ross - who just happened to be looking up from his cloth - with a hand running through the longer strands of hair on his head. "And sky blue over here. Very nice indeed."

"Thank you, sir." Smith tries not to come across as nervous, and instead sticks to the formalities which he addressed all customers with. He can feel Ross' glare burning into the side of his head.

"Can I interest you in any drinks this afternoon, sir?"

Even the way he blinks; slow and delicate, reeks of high class standard. The man strums his fingers against the bar and locks his eyes with Smith's.

"It depends on who will be serving me."

Smith feels his stomach twist as Ross perks up beside him. The brunet bounces on his heels quietly, smiling sweetly.

"Who would you prefer, sir?"

"Are either of you skilled with cocktails?" He clicks his tongue at the word 'cock', his dark gaze sending shivers down Smith's spine (and no doubt Ross') as he alternates between looking at each of them.

"Very much so. We're both trained with cock-" Ross blinks, before standing so that Smith and his elbows touch, "-tails."

“Well, I have a proposal for you both, then." He's got an elbow on the counter now, with the other one shrugging out of his huge lavish coat, the fabric draping delicately over the back of the stool.

Ross and Smith both give their most questioning gazes, hands behind their backs.

“You both make me a drink each, and if it isn't what I'd like, they are on the house.”

Ross, smirking, already feels beneath the bar for a glass. "And if it is what you wanted, sir?”

“I’m sure we could work something out,” The man lays it on thick, not leaving anything up for misinterpretation. "By the way that you two are treating me, anyway. I could get used to it."

Smith is still in denial, his work ethic completely gone and replaced with the need to impress as he stares.

The stranger notices, and smiles, teeth dazzlingly white.

"Come on, pretty boy. Get mixing." He pulls a Nat Sherman out of his box.

Ross is way ahead of him, so with the added push of the man across the bar, Smith begins his show. He grabs a glass from under the counter and scoops in shredded ice.

Ross is reaching around for a lemon. Smith hazards a guess that Ross is going for a French 75 - gin, sugar, champagne and lemon juice. He had quite a record for making them perfect every time.

Smith throws a little glance to their customer again, who is watching them both intently, an unlit cigar in between his teeth. The man raises a single eyebrow as if he’s trying to throw Smith off his game.

"Can I smoke in here?"

"Of course, sir." Smith slides a small, black porcelain ashtray towards him, and the brunet nods in silent thankfulness.

“What are you making?” Ross glances at the handful of blackberries Smith has just added to the glass. "I'll give you this lemon if you're making a bramble."

"Nah, mate. You're alright." Smith smiles under Ross' confused glance. The taller of the two bartenders tips in a few ounces of ginger beer, and vodka. "We have any limes in there, though? Could use some juice."

"Get it yourself." Ross shoots him a stare. "I need to get this perfect to find out what the prize is."

Smith rolls his eyes and reaches down for a lime. He slices it open with the ease of so many years of experience, and tries to push off the feeling of heavy eyes on him as he squeezes the juice into the glass.

"Garnish?" Ross is cutting a fine rind off of a lemon for a spiral. There's a small pile of glacé cherries beside his glass, but Smith opts for mint leaves. He tears them up in the palm of his hand, and Ross delicately spears his spiral with a cocktail stick, then let's out a small sigh.

“A _French_ _75_.” Ross places the tall flute glass in front of their customer and stands back, hands clasped behind his back. The customer sets his cigar down on the edge of the ashtray to lift the glass to his lips.

“Hurry up,” the brunet whispers to Smith, who keeps a whole mint leaf for the top of the glass, and sets it down beside Ross’, before stepping back to mirror his coworker.

“ _Blackberry and Ginger_ , sir.”

Smith turns to watch Ross’ brows furrow. He silently exclaims ‘what the fuck is that?’ and Smith shrugs.

They both turn back to watch as the man dips at each of the drinks, staring at the glasses intently.

“Well. Well well well.” He reaches for his pocket, and lifts out his wallet. “These definitely are not on the house.”  

Ross watches as he pulls out crisp bank notes, but is distracted when Smith lets out a little cough.

“Sir?”

The man places a twenty on the marble, and looks up through his hair. He hums a response.

“You said something about a reward, for us. Is that-”

The man lets out a low chuckle, taking another sip from Smith's cocktail. “Do you two have a break soon? I think I have a good idea of rewarding you at the same time. But it won't do, in here. My idea is a lot more bedroom centred.” he takes a long drag of his pink cigar.

“Oh.” Ross’ usual stoic expression has faltered, and his mouth hangs open a little. “ _Oh_.”

“Icy eyes over there gets the picture, don't you, sunshine?” he says, tipping the cocktails down his throat before standing up, stubbing out his cigar.

Ross nods, and opens the little gateway from behind the bar to stand a foot or so from the stranger, beckoning Smith with desperate eyes. Smith let's out a shaky exhale and follows.

“Get my coat, won’t you, sweetheart?” The regal stranger calls out from half way across the reception area, making a bee-line to the elevators.

Smith had always wondered what the 5 star rooms looked like, after all.

 


	2. (Day 2) Caramelised spicy cashews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are at uni, and it's movie night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Mitch for checking over my scenes!

“Ross! You’re gonna miss the good part!" Trott called out towards the kitchen. Smith was snuggling up close to the brunet, and if he was anyone else, Trott would have thought it was to hide from the gore on the television screen. The older of the two rested the heel of his hand on Smith’s jaw, wiping his thumb across the taller man’s bottom lip. 

Smith took to sucking and gently chewing on Trott’s thumb, eyes fixed on the movie playing.    
  
“Don't bother waiting for me!” Ross shouted from the kitchen. He tried to take his previous time pouring spicy cashews into a bowl, and watched the timer on the microwave tick down slowly. The popcorn was rhythmically popping away inside.

Ross poked his head around the corner to peek into the living room again. He catches glimpse of Trott kissing Smith’s hair, and a sudden bloodbath on screen.

He slides back into the kitchen with wide eyes and a bad feeling in his stomach.

“Doesh Rossh not like horrorsh?” Smith tries to say around Trott’s thumb.

"What?" Trott asked, rolling his eyes and smirking.   


Smith frowned, and bit down on the thumb as a warning. Trott laughed softly, and pushed his glasses further up his nose. 

“I don't think so, sunshine. We can ask if he wants to watch something else, when he finally comes out of there.” 

Smith grumbles. 

Ross, on cue, comes back into the room with two bowls piled high with grabbable foods. 

Trott pats the space next to him, the side that isn't occupied by Smith, and Ross delicately sits himself down, the bowl of cashews in his lap. Trott takes one and places it on his tongue, watching the brunet’s focus settle on the bowl rather than the screen.

“Anything interesting in there, hm?” Trott presses, and Ross shrugs a little. 

“They’re nice cashews. Interesting… colours.” 

“Ross, if you don't want to watch the film we don't have to. We kinda caught on that you don't have the stomach for horrors.”   
  
"But Trott…” Smith spoke around the shorter man’s thumb, still transfixed . "Thish ish like the mosht tame horror film  _ ever _ made. It'sh more of a thriller, actually."   
  
With that, Smith turned his whole attention back to the screen, knowing from the build-up music that the scene was heading towards a significantly gory end.

Unlike Smith, Trott was watching Ross closely - how his brow furrowed, trying to follow what little storyline there was in the film for a moment, before his hands flew up to cover his eyes, knocking over the cashews onto the floor.    
  
"Oh- fuck!" He squealed, before an audible whimper.    
  
"Mate, seriously, it's only a movie." Smith laughed, but his amusement dissipated when Trott nor Ross didn't reply. "Ross?" He poked Trott’s thigh. Trott shook his head in response, and Ross still refused to uncover his face.   
  
Smith sighed with a soft smile, watching as Trott began sitting up and taking Ross into his arms. Smith rubbed his fingers through his shaken boyfriends hair.  "It's okay. It's just special effects."   
  
"I don't like it." Ross complained quietly, burying his face in Trott’s warm chest.   
  
"Want us to switch it off?" Smith suggested, kissing Ross’ hair.   
  
Feeling Ross nod against his shoulder in response, Trott sighed and hugged him closer. Smith leant forwards for the controller and quickly pressed the button that ejected the dvd from their playstation. 

"All gone. Better?"   
  
"Mmhmm." Ross’ reply was muffled by how close he snuggled up to Trott’s chest. Smith wanted to take a photo. 

Instead, he leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to the corner of Trott’s mouth, sliding himself behind Ross’ hunched over back in a half-spooning half-sitting position. Trott still held onto Ross, arms heavy around him, but leaned into Smith’s lips. 

It was a tender moment; hard to find during term time at uni. Smith closed his eyes, serene and relaxed as Trott gently licked at his tongue. Ross poked his head up, eyes still pink and dewy from crying, and watched them. He leaned his head against Smith’s, and poked his nose into the course, stubble ridden cheek.

Smith pulled away from Trott’s lips, just a little, and turned to connect his with Ross’, eyes still closed. Ross’ lips were tinged with the seasoning from the cashews, spicy on Smith’s tongue as he licked his boyfriend’s lip.

Trott kissed at Ross’ cheek gently, threading his fingers through the brunet’s thick hair. 

Ross pulled back from Smith slowly, eyelids heavy. “Let me go a sec.” He said, wriggling out from Trott and Smith’s embrace. “Need a piss.”

Smith nodded, and leant against Trott again, as Ross clambered over the spilled cashews to jog to the bathroom.

“Come on, you. We need to pick these up before they turn to mould.” Trott slipped out from underneath him to start popping the little nuts back into the bowl they came from.

Smith slunk down next to him to copy his boyfriend, picking them up two at a time.

“I really liked the film, as well.” he sulked.

"We can watch it another day, sunshine." Trott quirked a brow, reaching up to scratch at a scab on his nose. He seemed sarcastic, yet there was no harshness in the words. "Why do you even like watching bloodbath films?"   
  
"Dunno. Always have done, I guess." Smith shrugged, dropping some dusty cashews into the bowl. "What would you prefer to watch, then?"   
  
"Stuff that doesn't involve the characters being shot through the head with nail guns." Trott smirked. “For Ross’ sake.”   


“Figures. I’m such a bad boyfriend for putting it on.”

“Yeah you are. Twat.” 

Smith shoved at Trott’s shoulder for that, gently, leaving him with an orange handprint on his shirt.    


“You love it. You love  _ me _ .”

Trott snickered to himself, piling up cashews in his palm. “So help me God, I do.” he smiled. “But I love Ross too. And he’s gonna break his back if he trips over these. So hurry up.”

  
  



	3. (Day 3) The best blueberry muffins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my sweet AU where Ross is a businessman, and Trott is a pining baker. Part of something bigger coming up, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 9th is coincidentally my Birthday, and a friend bought me some of (in my opinion) the best blueberry muffins to celebrate. You can see them on my blog ( @Aehuru on tumblr )

“No, no, forget the eclairs. I’ve found my new favourite dessert in here, Trott.” Ross says after a swallow of the muffin. A light pink dusts the baker's cheeks from where he sits behind the counter.

 

It’s early. Ross had come in on the way to work after arriving way too early - his clocks hadn't gone forward yet and he had arrived an hour early to his 7am job. That brought him here, only the slightest bit tired out from helping Trott fill up his display counters.

 

“They're a new recipe. I’ve never been a fan of blueberry, I really don't know why.” he says, trying to hide his nervousness around the businessman. “Do you think I should make more? Only made 12.”

 

Ross stops on his third bite, and chews quickly enough to splutter out: “Fu- Yes! Yes, yes, you should!”

 

Trott tries not to laugh at the sudden outburst from the usually quietly charming man, who has been reduced to a loud blueberry-stained hooligan in a suit and tie.

 

“Seriously, Trott- These are the best blueberry muffins I’ve ever had.”

 

“Never knew you were a muffin connoisseur.” The baker smiles toothily.

 

Ross wipes crumbs away from his lip. “There's lots you don't know about me,” he smiles in that way that makes Trott’s head spin, “but that's not important. We need to make more.”

 

“ _We_?”

 

“If it means I need to call off my shift today to help you make more of these heavenly things, then yeah: _we_. Besides, help never hurts.” Ross’ smile is enough to sway Trott, really, as he animatedly takes another bite of the muffin, looking upon it as if he would marry it.

  
Was it too much to be jealous of a muffin?

 

* * *

 

“Hey Trott, how many of these blueberries do you want me to add?” Ross asks. He quickly, and with all of the slyness of an assassin, pops one of the berries into his mouth, and chews gently. 

“The whole bowl, please.” Trott calls over his shoulder, delicately dispensing the little cases into the baking tray. “Try not to mash them all as you mix, though, Mr. Muscle.”

Ross laughs, the sound like wind through gentle chimes. Trott turns to watch as Ross gently folds the berries through the pale batter, biting his tongue, deep in thought. He still stirs a little hard, though. Trott presses his palm to Ross’ arm, and he stops folding the berries in. 

“You’re doing it a bit too forcefully.” Trott takes the spatula, and scoops up the batter and gently covers the berries with it. Ross keeps the bowl steady in his big hands. “You have to be careful to keep them whole inside the batter. They won’t taste as good if they’re brutally massacred into it.” 

Ross smiles down at Trott, and the bowl. “Sorry - I guess I haven’t properly baked in years.”

“Oh?” Trott steadies the spatula against the side of the bowl, and reaches for some spoons. 

“Mum used to let me help her make upside down cake.” Ross holds onto the bowl, and eyes a stray berry on the counter as Trott spoons the batter into each muffin wrapper

“Pineapple?”

“Yeah, and glace cherries in the holes.” He smiles fondly. Trott scrapes at every last drop of batter out of the bowl into the cases for even distribution (and less to clean afterwards). “I guess I never really got the chance to bake, after that. I’m always busy.”

The baker takes the bowl from Ross’ iron grip and places it in the basin, ready to be washed.    
  
“Speaking of. Thank you for this.” Trott gestures to the tray of uncooked muffins. “You missed your shift for  _ this _ .”

“For the best muffins in the world, yeah, I did. And for you!” Ross scruffs Trott’s hair quickly, foldly, and it warms the shorter man’s heart. “I’ll wash up.”


End file.
